


The Forgotten Phoenix

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel hasn't thought about home in a long time. He always told himself that if someone came and asked him to, he'd return to Heaven. He just didn't expect that angel to be Michael himself; and asking for help in a war against Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forgotten Phoenix

The rope groaned loudly as another fiber snapped. Gabriel sighed and unwrapped an orange flavored Tootsie-Pop, sticking the wrapper in his pocket and looked down into the pit near his feet. “The more you struggle, the that rope is going to give.” He stuck the sucker into his mouth and folded his arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” The man bellowed, his voice despondent, his face red. If the voice had held a tone or remorse, Gabriel might have let him go. But, as he was on the verge of begging and hadn't started to ask for forgiveness, he was going to continue to dangle by his ankle a while longer.

“You really think you can get away with what you did?” He twirled the stick of candy thoughtfully. “Those poor dogs, turning the females into mothers when they were scarcely out of the puppy stage themselves? And to have them living in tiny cages that were barely big enough for a rabbit? Disgusting.”

“Damn you!” The man yelled.

Gabriel sat down on the edge of the pit just as a worn looking Corgi tottered up next to him and laid down. He rubbed the dog's ears with one hand and nudged the rope with his foot. “I thought I told you not to struggle.” He looked down past the man, towards the base of the pit where he could hear the faint hum of dozens of hives of ground bees. 

The man tried to lunge upwards to grab the rope above his ankle, but only succeeded in making the rope swing like a pendulum and more fibers snapped. 

“Gabriel.” A voice said from behind him and the dog turned and let out one short bark before bounding away. The archangel rose to his feet and stepped away from the pit, making his candy vanish at the same time.

“Michael.” He replied, genuinely surprised. He had not seen his older brother since the day he watched a very brave and very devout girl from France who'd commanded armies dance up to the Pearly Gates after giving him a hug. His brother picked up the dog, giving it an affectionate kiss and rubbed the animal behind the ears. He arched an eyebrow of surprise. “What are you doing in that kid?”

Michael adjusted his hold on the dog, looking down at his vessel, frowning. “What's wrong with it?”

“Uh... how about it's not your true vessel and that kid is fifteen. Where did you even pick it up?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“What's going on up there?” The hanging man bellowed.

Michael came over to stand next to Gabriel, looked from the dog to the man in the pit and frowned. “How long as he been hanging there?” The dog let out a low growl. “I agree, not long enough.” The archangel snapped and the rope turned into a rusted chain.

“Oh, fuck!” The man yelled as the chain started to spin and Michael sealed his mouth shut to cut off any more interruptions.

“Vessel, Michael.... and what are you doing down here anyway?” It was too awkward to talk to his brother in these kinds of situations.

“The vessel I got in Japan. A rather despondent young man who was on the ledge of his apartment building.” He shook his head. “Convinced him it was not a good idea to jump.” He sighed. “Don't worry, I'll return him in the condition I got him in – although not exactly where I did. And he won't be as upset that he didn't get into Tokyo University.” He looked down at the dog, rubbing it under the chin. “What a sweetie you are, Clarice.” 

“Second question, Mikey.” Gabriel folded his arms, smiling slightly at his brother's attention to the animal.

“I assume you know that Azazel is dead.” He set the dog down, and she sat at Michael's feet, looking up at him, an expression of joy on her face.

“I'd gotten that memo, yes. But that was almost two years ago, what, you find a way to reschedule the Apocalypse?” That was the last thing he wanted right now. He never wanted it to begin with.

“Hardly. It's just taken this long to come up with a better plan.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I'm actually not that angry about delaying the inevitable fight – but the fight's been rescheduled to sometime around the Sun going supernova.” He sighed. “As for why I'm here... How'd you like to help clean out Hell?”

“Excuse me?” Of all the things he expected his brother to say, cleaning out Hell wasn't even in the top thousand.

“Clearing out Hell.” He shrugged as if it was nothing. “We can't close the Gates, no-one knows where the tablet is. So we're going demon slaying. And I'm talking about pretty much every single one we can find. We're still working on the details.”

“And you want my help?” Gabriel pulled a candy bar from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Of course. You're one of the fieriest warriors in Heaven's army.” He looked down at the struggling man. “Although you seem to enjoy playing with your human victims.” 

“I'm having an off day. Normally I'm more creative.” He held out the candy. “Snickers?” 

Michael took the treat, frowning. “I've not had chocolate in centuries.”

“You're missing out.” He sighed. “I'd need to get a few things in order before I come home, Michael.”

“I understand.” He looked down at the dog. “Do you have a home ready for Clarice here?”

“I was going to take her in, but I'll find her a place.” He waved the dog over. “Give me a week and I should have everything in order.” 

He pocketed the chocolate and picked the dog up. “If you don't mind, I will be taking Clarice. That is...”

“Well, you haven't had a pet since your T-Rex died.” Gabriel shook his head and rubbed the dog's head, grinning. “You be a good puppy.” The dog barked and Michael vanished with the animal. “What just happened?” He waved his hand absently and the chain snapped. A moment later, he heard the man's agonized screams as he fell among the bee hives. “What is my brother thinking?” He stuck the Tootsie-Pop back into his mouth and walked away.

**  
Gabriel couldn't remember the exact day he left Heaven. As old as he was, for all he had seen and all he knew, he couldn't pin down an actual date. The era was somewhere around the time Julius Caesar sailed for Britain. He'd run into Loki a few days after he left and just five minutes with the pagan had told him all he needed to know. He'd swiftly dispatched the god to Purgatory and took up his job. Mankind went on as he stayed in Scandinavia, he watched as paganism gave way to Christianity, tales of sailors finding islands far out in the sea – Iceland, Greenland and a place they called New Found Land. Gabriel knew that the stories were true, and it would be centuries before the discoveries would all be put in order. Even longer until mankind learned that the Egyptians had already crossed the vast ocean and landed in what would become known as South America. That place, forgotten by time and kept secret by the Norse, was going to be discovered by those who would not be silent.

The archangel shook his head and scanned along the rigging of the ship, The Nina, smiling to himself as the wind filled the sail, propelling the ship forward along the ocean. If he were to raise shift his gaze to the left, he knew he would see the two sister ships, also bounding over the waves. Gabriel had signed aboard this ship not because he was bored, on the run or any other trifling matter. He was here because he _had_ to be here. It was mid-September and while these sailors knew of the devastating storms that tormented the sea this time of the year, none of them had ever seen the fury and wrath that was held in what would be called in the future a category five storm. A storm with winds that would destroy all in its path, a tempest that would not be matched in size for over half a millennium. 

A storm that even now was whipping unseen around them, while they bounded over waves and strong winds, driving them ever westward. 

“You're going to make that root beer float boil if you keep staring into it like that, Loki.” 

The voice snapped Gabriel from his reverie and he looked up. “Sorry about that, Pels, lost in a memory again.” He took a long swig on the straw, ate a few fries and cleared his throat. Kokopelli was one of the few pagans who knew who he really was, and as such, was just the sort of person he needed to leave a few things with. “I'm going to have to go home for... for a while.”

“Home?” Pels took a large bite of his hamburger. “The one in the north or the one straight up from everywhere?”

“Straight up.” He watched his friend's face to gauge his reaction. As he expected, the dark eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline in shock.

“Oh shit.” He took a long pull on his bottle of Pepsi and shuddered slightly at the coldness of the beverage. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“I don't know. A while. A couple of years at the very least.” He ate a few more fries.

The younger god picked up the ketchup bottle and drizzled it in a corner of his plate, then added mustard to it. “Well, I guess we're going to need a new trumpet player in the band for a little while.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I'm going to miss the gang. I'm going to suggest you find some enterprising music student at UNLV, and well, you know...”

Kokopelli snapped an onion ring in half. “I know.” He looked up. “You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“You know me.” Gabriel grinned, spooning a large amount of ice cream out of his root beer float and then shoving it into his mouth. The mixture of freezing ice cream mixed with the cloying sweetness of Reddi-Whip would have sent a human into sugar shock. For him, the spoonful was a mere taste in his normal sweetness intake. 

“That is exactly what I'm talking about!” He tossed half of the ring into his mouth and shook the other half at him. “You remember what happened the _last_ time I told you to do that?”

He smirked. “If I recall, Pels, you were right there with me carving and arranging those statues.” He dipped a fry in his ice cream. “I laugh every time I see a new theory on the mystery of Easter Island published.”

He munched on the rest of his onion ring in reply, glaring at him with dark eyes. Gabriel could tell he was trying hard to repress his laughter, but he knew that the mirth would win in the end. Sure enough, as soon as Pels finished chewing, a smile threatened to break out across his face. “We shouldn't have done it.”

“No, what we should have done is picked another island and left giant feet on it.” He picked up his napkin. “Feet with only three toes and weird shoes.” He smirked. “Aren't you the one who left the big ass 'Doomsday Stone' in the middle of the Mayan Empire?” He finished wiping his fingers. “Back on the subject at hand, can I count on you to keep the band together? And bail out Clio after she slugs some guy who gets a little too forward?”

“Well, I can't stop her from punching an asshole.” He ate another onion ring. “I'll just make sure she keeps it at two hits.” 

“Two?” Gabriel arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Her hitting the creep, the creep hitting the floor.” He picked up his soda.

“That works.” He sighed, frowning down at the remnants of his meal. “Also, things might get a little weird.”

“What sort of things and what sort of weird?” Pels took another bite of his burger. 

“If what's going to happen is what I think is going to happen... there might be, shall we say, an upswing in natural disasters.” Gabriel sighed. “Hopefully, it will be kept to a minimum.”

“Didn't you tell me most natural disasters are actually scheduled, to fit into the grand scheme of things, or something along those lines?” He ate another onion ring. “Like that earthquake during the World Series a couple of years ago?”

“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I'll do my best.” He frowned. “You talked to Kali yet?”

“I'm going to see her tomorrow.” He let out a breath. “I'm not looking forward to it.”

“She makes me nervous.” Pels studied his onion ring. “But I think that's the way a lot of us feel about her.”

“I think that's because she's one of the few pagans left who can roast just about anyone without breaking a sweat.” He downed the rest of his soda. 

*  
Gabriel didn't want to admit it, but honestly felt that in tying up all his loose ends, he was really saying good-bye. He knew what Michael was planning was dangerous and honestly, he wasn't certain if he'd come back from their march into Hell. 

He was just as fine of a warrior as his elder brothers, but Michael had a protective streak that made a hairline crack in fine porcelain out of the Milky Way. Not that he himself didn't have his own protective nature. Maybe that was why he was doing what he was doing now. Tell his pagan friends to keep quiet, batten down the hatches and wait for the shouting to stop. There were plenty of angels who'd love to ice a pagan god for bragging rights and really – compared to a lot of the garrisons, most the remnants of the pantheons of old were nothing more than a hornet's nest. 

A hundred and thirty years ago, a human hunter had turned Poseidon into fish bait and had only limped away from the fight with a few cuts and a sprained ankle. Compared to a hunter, an angel on pagan god fight was essentially a steel beam against a gnat. His own fight with the real Loki had been less than that. 

Gabriel fully remembered the night the angels slew the entire Egyptian Pantheon – or at least, a good chunk of it. Ra had run off just as things started to go south and Osiris wasn't even there. Then again, given the state of Egypt at the time with the Death of the Firstborn, he imagined the god had been rather busy. He was also the only one still around, since like Hades, he kept to himself already. Well, or to each other's company – the only time he saw them was during the World Series. How those two learned to like baseball, he had no idea.

Every now and then, Gabriel saw others of the Greece-Roman Pantheon – and usually drank them under the table, all the while they were asking how he, Loki, could hold his liquor so well. He never bothered to tell any of them it was impossible for him to become drunk. 

Gabriel sighed, twisted the star-gazer lily in his fingers and slowly and solemnly knocked on the door of the apartment where Kali lived. This was one good-bye he'd rather not have, but if he didn't go through with it, he'd spend the rest of eternity hating himself for it. Maybe he should have gone for the front door, rather than the one on her balcony.

The goddess's face appeared in the glass door, her expression confused and then, her eyebrows lifted and she pushed the door back, music drifted out around them. “You have to leave.” She looked behind her. “Quickly.” 

He held the flower out to her, which she took, her expression unchanged. “I wish things had ended differently, Kali.”

“It's too late for that. You should have told me sooner about...” She looked over her shoulder again, frowning. “I never told a soul – or another god. Now get out of here.” 

He took a deep breath. “The angels are coming.” Sheesh, that sounded stupid. He'd heard more convincing warnings from weathermen.

“What do you mean?” A confused look marred her features. “How can you know what the Judea-Christian armies are up to?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Kali.” He straightened his shoulders, his hands clasped behind his back. “I'm asking you to stay out of sight, or at the very least, not make too much noise.”

Realization dawned on her features. “After.. you could have...” She shook her head. “You knew what I had done to... countless... and said nothing?”

“We all have our own sins, Kali. Even angels. We're just a lot better at denying them.” He took another breath, pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it towards her. “This is a list of people who are in need of help. I cannot help them all and arrive home in time. I'm asking you to help them for me.”

Kali unfolded the paper, and he could see her reading the names of the children he'd heard crying in the dark – begging for someone to save them. Many times, he'd arrived too late to answer cries only to find the souls claimed for Hell. He really hated demons. She twisted her lip and looked up. “What of the people harming them?”

He gave her a drool look and raised his eyes skyward. “Humans have accidents. All the time.”

Kali's face slowly smiled and then she looked back down at the list, frowning. “Why does this Amelia in England have two names?”

Gabriel's heart twisted at the mention of that girl. “Because the first name is what the world calls her – the second is what she calls herself. It's a coping mechanism.” He clenched his hands into fists. 

The Hindu goddess folded the paper back up and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. “You be careful.”

“You know me.” He gave her a slight grin.

“That is _exactly_ what I mean.” She reached out with her arm for him for a moment, and then she let it fall. 

*  
Even though the room had been empty for at least half a dozen centuries, it was spotlessly clean. Gabriel sighed to himself as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. A light breeze ruffled his hair and he looked up – the windows were open and the heavy scent of the flowers of the Garden drifted in. He went over to the dais at the center of the room and stepped up into the large nest that dominated the room. He couldn't quite remember the angel who had last shared this space with him, only the iridescent white feathers of their fledgling. That infant was now full grown and no doubt had long forgotten his parents. 

Such was the way of things.

Gabriel laid down, slowly relaxing his vessel into a comatose state and then gently left his host, leaving the body in suspended animation. Standing back up took a bit of adjustment. Not yet in true form, his humanistic angel form was taller, more muscular and well, different. He strode over to the wardrobe and quickly pulled on a deep green tunic, flexing his wings outward afterward. Unbound at last, he flapped them several times, causing a tiny shower of feathers to fall at his feet. “That feels better.” 

He strapped on a belt, pulled on his boots, double knotting them out of pure habit and ran a hand through his now black hair. He frowned at his appearance in the mirror. It was only going to change more once he donned his armor and, even more when he assumed true form. “Hello, stranger.” He took a blanket from the wardrobe, crossed back to the nest and covered his vessel with it. Not that he actually expected the body to get cold, or to be disturbed. 

After double checking everything, he went out into the corridor and locked the door behind him. 

He had work to do.

*  
Michael watched, rather amused, as Clarice gnawed on a piece of rawhide, looking completely unperturbed by being removed from Earth and now taking up residence in Heaven. She was a rather sweet animal and she was perfectly content in his nest. Not that he ever spent more than a few hours in this room. He rubbed the animal behind her ears. “You be a good puppy while I'm gone.”

He changed out of the school uniform that his vessel had been wearing into a red tunic and sturdy boots. 

It wasn't as if he knew that the Apocalypse plans were already in flux. He'd known that for quite some time. It started when Henry Winchester vanished in 1954, the same year that Michael Coulter was born – and nine years before the man went deaf. When his true vessel, Dean Coulter – born Dean Winchester, came into this world deaf, the archangel knew that things weren't going to happen as he once thought. He'd spent the years between the birth of Dean until the death of Azazel thinking of what he and the angels could do.

Contrary to what many angels of the garrisons might think, this plan had been in the works since John Winchester abandoned Dean. The only reason Michael took so long to go and find Gabriel was because he had the garrisons to run, Raphael to keep in check, and really, if Azazel was still alive, the battle was still on – and it would end horribly. The seal would have been broken not by any Winchester, but by a young woman who was fated to trade her soul for the death of her abusive parents. 

Now that girl was safe from the fires of Hell, but tragically, there was no time to save her from her father. 

Deep in faith and morals, Dean Coulter would have willingly allowed Michael to use him for a vessel.

With the road that Sam Winchester was tumbling down so recklessly and blind, he most likely would have killed Lilith with one hand and welcomed Lucifer with the other. 

Michael began fastening his armor on, leaving it somewhat loose to allow for the shift from his current form to true form easier. He and the other angels heading for Hell would travel in true form and then some would shift back into this form for fighting. He personally planned on being in true form as often as he could. 

They couldn't clean out Hell in it's entirety, as much as he and many other angels would love to do. The concept was to leave just a handful of extremely low-ranking demons behind – and the souls who were damned with no hope of redemption. That number of souls was a mere two billion – and honestly, Michael was surprised it was that low, given some of the utter assholes the human race had produced over the centuries. Most of the souls they would encounter would be sent to Limbo, where the would remain until the end of time. 

“Michael?” A quiet, timid voice caused him to turn.

“Polly.” He gave the cherub an encouraging smile. “They sent you for the list?”

The angel nodded and glanced over at his nest, where Clarice was sleeping. “Would you like me to feed your dog while you're gone?”

He chuckled. “I'd appreciate that – and take her for a run down on Earth every now and then.” He went over to his massive desk and picked up a heavy scroll. “Her name is Clarice.” 

Polly took the scroll from him, holding it against her with her arms. “I was also told to ask you if we have any other orders while you are gone.”

“I'm leaving Jeremiah in charge, if you have any problems or questions, ask him. If you can't find him in our part of Heaven, check the Children's Library, he likes to have story-time every now and then.” Michael fasted on his belt and scabbard, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “If Father returns, we are to be notified immediately.”

“Do you think Father will return?” Polly blinked up at him, adjusting her hold on the scroll.

“I don't know.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “We'll be back before you know it. Shoot straight, little cupid.”

The cherub gave him a look he was sure that millions of little sisters gave their older brothers. “Have fun storming the castle.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He gave her a look. “What castle?”

“I heard it in a movie called _The Princess Bride._ ” She shrugged. “I think it works for this.”

“Take care of yourself.” He sighed and waved her off. 

He envied the cherubs and their extreme optimism and sense of humor sometimes.

*

Gabriel found the weight of the gold-colored armor unfamiliar as he adjusted the clasp on the breastplate and then looked at himself in the mirror. He'd sort of expected his older brother Michael to throw a fit when the plans for the Apocalypse got derailed. Instead, the archangel had decided to mount a direct assault on Hell itself and end a lot of suffering. 

“You think this plan is foolhardy.” A voice said from behind him and he turned to look at the angel in silver colored armor. 

“Not foolhardy, Castiel. I believe the term I would say is random. And yes, I am annoyed with Michael for not letting me have a smiting party in 1938 in Germany. He was more than welcome to come and join the fun.” Gabriel shook his head. “This is going to be a time consuming battle, you know that, don't you?” He picked up his helm. “And a lot of us aren't coming home.”

“Sacrifices must be made.” The angel stood at attention, the barest hint of a frown on his face. “I assume you have advised your pagan friends to stay out of the way.”

“My pagan friends are not stupid. With the exception of Balder, but then, he's just an ass.” He took a breath and put on his scabbard. “When this is all over, Cas – I'm taking you on a tour of the world so you can see just what it is that I love about this planet so much.”

“I love it to, Gabriel, it is our Father's...”

“But you, like many angels, Castiel, fail to see what is really there.” He picked up his helm and wrapped an arm around the lesser angel's shoulder. “Come on, my little Chuck Norris, we're going on a demon hunt.” 

“My name is Castiel, not Chuck Norris.” The angel let himself be led away.

“Remind me to tell you all about Chuck Norris when we get home. You, me, a movie theater and endless bowls of Kettle Corn.” He grinned and they started down the corridor. 

“How can you be so flippant when we are about to storm Hell itself?”

“It's my coping mechanism.” He put his helmet on, and his smile abruptly vanished. “Don't smite everything you see, Castiel. Some of those poor souls down in Hell got there on a road of good intentions.” He let out a breath. “There is one thing that worries me though.”

“One thing?” The lesser angel sounded shocked. “Just one?”

“Yes. I worry about what our actions will cause on Earth. We can't storm into Hell without there being some kind of reaction in nature.” Gabriel was inwardly thinking about the fact that it was currently hurricane season. 

“The humans will not notice. As much as they try to predict storms, floods, earthquakes and other disasters, they eventually learn to accept them as a part of life and rebuild.” Castiel shook his head. “Earth will be fine. It is not nature that man should fear, but themselves.”

“There will always be little kids who hide from thunder and lightning under their covers.” He didn't want to get into explaining human nature at the moment. “It's going to be an ugly couple of years, nature wise.”

“After the floods of last summer in the United States, I believe mankind might be more prepared.” Castiel replied.

“The people who live in those areas are still trying to get back on their feet.” Gabriel shook his head. “You be careful when we're down there, you hear?”

“I'm not a fledgling, Gabriel.” The younger angel put his helm on and strode away.

Gabriel watched him go. “But you're my fledgling.” He whispered before pulling on his own helm and following Castiel down the corridor.

*  
The sky above Potomac, Maryland was a disturbing shade of navy, tinged in black and gray. Dean Coulter grabbed the recycle bin in one hand and the garbage can in the other, and then raced up the driveway as fast as he could. He put the can and bin next to each other near the door into the house and shut the garage. He washed his hands and then turned on the television, sitting back on the couch nervously as he watched the captions flick past.

The outer bands of Hurricane Beryl were racing up the eastern seaboard -the storm itself was expected to plow into the Pennsylvania/New Jersey border, north of where he and his family lived. It didn't mean they were in the clear by any means, though. He saw lightning flash out of the corner of his eye and while this was a Category One hurricane, the bloody thing was the size of the state of Missouri. 

Dean tucked himself against the couch, trying to ignore the fact that at fifteen, he really shouldn't be scared by wind, rain, and lightning – he just would feel a lot better if his mom and dad were home safe as well. He sighed and removed his shoes, wincing at the slight twist of pain in his ankle. He stretched out his leg, trying not to worry too much. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it, absently thinking of his little brother, Sammy. Of course, Sammy probably wasn't all that little anymore – but still, Dean hoped that wherever he was, it wasn't in Beryl's path. 

Sammy had always been absolutely _terrified_ of thunderstorms.


End file.
